


Molly Colbert-Person

by schlicky



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlicky/pseuds/schlicky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad and Ray get a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Molly Colbert-Person

**Author's Note:**

> Written from five prompt words: dream, replacement, wreck, versus, and hours. All mistakes are my own.

After Ray walks in the door he stops short, mouth hanging open the slightest bit, because the house is a fucking  _wreck_.

The pillows from the sofa are scattered all over the living room (and one seems to be missing entirely), there's an overturned lamp, a chewed on bit of wood that looks suspiciously like part of one of their kitchen chairs, and bits of what he thinks used to be one of Brad's old motorcycle magazines all over the floor.

Ray hears a small crash and a creative, colorful obscenity from Brad. A moment later, there's a blur of black and brown fur that scurries into the entryway and barrels into his shins.

Brad rounds the corner after her, looking thoroughly exasperated.

"What the hell, Colbert?" Ray asks. He bends down to pick up the German Shepherd puppy, and she licks his chin excitedly, wiggling. "She's a fucking dog, homes, not a Category 5 hurricane."

Brad slaps a hand against the wall, lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe you should tell  _her_  that."

Ray rolls his eyes and has to either set the dog down or risk dropping her, because her wiggling is starting to verge on desperate. "Do you have to go outside, sweetheart?" He opens the front door and watches with amusement as she bounds across the threshold, all big feet and bad coordination. He snorts a laugh when she tries to pounce on a bee and ends up tumbling over.

"She's a terror," Brad mutters.

Ray glances at him as they both move out onto the front step. "She's  _adorable_ , Brad. Look." He nods toward the middle of the yard where their dog is rolling around in the grass. He grins when she ends up flat on her back, kicking her feet into the air, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.

"She's trying to eat  _everything_."

Ray gives Brad a look that clearly says he thinks Brad's a dumbass. "She's a puppy, you fucktard. Of course she is." He watches her play for a minute or two longer, before encouraging her to use the bathroom. When she does, he makes a big deal out of it, scratching her thoroughly. He raises his eyebrows when he catches the look on Brad's face. "What? It's positive reinforcement, motherfucker." When he looks back down, she's halfway across the yard again, bouncing toward the sidewalk. "Where do you think  _you're_  going?"

"To play in traffic, hopefully."

Ray thinks Brad probably didn't mean for him to hear that, but he socks him hard in the arm anyway. "That's your daughter you're talking about."

  


* * *

  


When Brad gets home he's sort of expecting to be greeted with a mess of epic proportions. Torn up papers, broken furniture, a disembodied limb, some blood spatters.  _Something_.

It figures, of course, that not only is the house totally spotless, but Ray has apparently managed to teach the dog how to sit _and_  how to fist bump using her nose.

Brad's only been gone for two hours. To add insult to injury, he doesn't even get the satisfaction of being on the receiving end of an excited greeting. He leans in the doorway to the living room, quietly watching.

Ray's lying on his back in the empty space between the coffee table and the entertainment center with the dog pillowed on his chest. He's murmuring quietly - Brad can't hear exactly what he's saying, though - and playing with her ridiculously over-sized ears. Eventually, Ray tips his head back to give him an upside down smile.

"Did you name her, yet?" Brad asks. He smiles wryly when the dog just looks at him and then goes back to chewing on the plastic water bottle that has a handful of treats stuck inside of it.

"No, not yet," Ray replies. "We've been discussing it, but we haven't come up with anything we both like. Have we, girl?"

Brad smiles and moves to sit on the coffee table. "Well, you can't keep calling her 'snuggle-butt' forever."

Ray shrugs his shoulders. "Better than you calling her 'shithead'," he points out.

"She ate my phone charger, my sunglasses,  _and_  my Reefs."

"To be fair, she only ate  _one_  of your Reefs."

"Oh, and isn't that an immense relief." Brad leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. One side of his mouth quirks up in an amused smile when the dog abandons her homemade toy and climbs off Ray to investigate him. He turns his hands over so she can sniff them, smiling when she starts licking. "You suck-up," he tells her fondly.

Ray doesn't move, just turns his head to watch her. "You have to be smarter than the dog, Brad," he says. "I know that's probably asking a lot."

"Fuck you, asshole," Brad tells him, lacking venom. He scratches the dog behind her absurd ears, letting his hands drop when she loses interest. He watches her move back over toward Ray, lying next to him, chewing on the bottle again. Brad smiles when she plants one paw on top of it to keep it still, and he can see now that the lid has been taped on to keep her from getting it off too easily. "That's a neat trick."

Ray turns onto his side and pillows his right arm under his head, running his left hand from the top of her head all the way down to the tip of her tail. "Yeah. We went to PetSmart to get a replacement leash after she chewed through the other one. The cashier suggested it." He continues to pet her. "She seems to like this better than any of the toys we've bought her."

"At least until she figures out how to get to the treats," Brad points out. He tips his head to the side, watching with a smile as Ray drapes an arm around the dog, cuddling up against her.

She stops what she's doing long enough to give Ray a lick from chin to forehead, then goes back to the complex puzzle that is the water bottle full of pieces of Beggin' Strips.

Brad gets this weird fluttery feeling in his stomach as he watches the way Ray watches her. It only takes a minute or two before he crawls onto the floor with them. His arms are longer than Ray's, and he manages to get his over the dog and around Ray, too.

  


* * *

  


It's nearly midnight when Ray gets home from the concert he and Walt bought tickets for months ago - Brad had simply refused to go because it was 'faggy country music'. There doesn't seem to be debris scattered all over the house, so he's hopeful that Brad Versus Dog: Round Two went a little better than the last time.

Their bedroom light is still on, but both Brad and the dog are lying on top of the covers, asleep. For all his talk about being an ice-cold Marine Corps killer, Brad is curled up around the dog,  _snuggling_  with her.

Ray thinks it's actually pretty fucking adorable, but that's not a thought he's ever going to say out loud. He flicks the light off and moves closer to the bed. He peels off his jacket, but the smell of smoke from the club is clinging to every layer of clothing, so it doesn't really help. He kicks off his shoes and carefully climbs onto the bed, trying not to wake either of its occupants. He smiles when he realizes their dog is dreaming - her feet are twitching like she's trying to run, and she's making soft snuffling noises. As he watches, her twitching gets more pronounced and she lets out a long, low whine. "Hey snuggle-butt, wake up, baby." Ray scrubs his fingers through the scruff of her neck.

"Told you to stop calling me that," Brad jokes sleepily.

When Ray looks up, he smiles because Brad hasn't even bothered to open his eyes. He hears the dog huff out a sigh, and her limbs fall still. "Go back to sleep, Brad," he tells him fondly.

"Mm." Brad shifts the arm curled over the dog to tangle his fingers in Ray's tee shirt, tugging him closer. "How was your gay-ass concert?"

Ray grins, only because Brad can't see it. "It was a lot of fun, you fucking douchebag."

Brad just hums, and he's quiet for so long that Ray thinks he must have fallen asleep again, which is why it startles him when Brad asks, "What do you think about Molly?"

Between them, the dog wiggles around to find a more comfortable position. She pauses long enough to lick the bare skin of Ray's arm a few times, and then turns over onto her back, feet sticking up awkwardly into the air.

"Molly," he repeats, testing it out. "I like it." Ray smiles and pushes up on one arm to lean over her, pressing a kiss to Brad's lips. "What do  _you_  think?" He pokes at the dog and says the name again, smiling when she makes a snuffling noise. "Then it's unanimous. Molly it is." When he leans across Molly to kiss Brad again, Brad meets him halfway.


End file.
